


Haunted Blood

by Karin Yukimura (Karinpon)



Category: Versailles (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Blood and Gore, Crossdressing, Dark Comedy, Disturbing Themes, Gay Sex, Ghost Sex, M/M, Multi, Not Serious, Other, Paranormal, Scat, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Visual Kei, exploding penises, racist caricature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karinpon/pseuds/Karin%20Yukimura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hizaki is haunted by the ghost of Jasmine You. Then Kamijou's insane conspiracy to kill the rest of the band is revealed. Totally unreal, totally a farce.</p><p>(Written in 2011.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted Blood

In his large, sparsely furnished flat Hizaki sat idly atop his bed, basking in the late-afternoon sunlight which shone through the nearby glass door separating his room from the balcony. He lived alone here, suffering only occasional visits from the people he sold music with--Kamijou, Teru, Yuki and--... he glanced longingly at the shapely glass phial which adorned his mantel; it resembled more a perfume bottle in structure, but its contents were far more valuable to him. They had all taken one--all four of the survivors: a small, glass phial containing the blood of their dearly deceased bassist and soulmate, whom they called Jasmine You. Promptly he averted his gaze--he would not today fall into another of those self-pitying and grotesquely pitiable trance states of his, which so oft consisted of voiceless tears and self-mutilation.

His arms were full of the scars, though he covered them well with clothing and makeup; he found it personally stunning that he had progressed so far as a guitarist in spite of them. A minimum half-dozen hours a day well-spent, he thought: practising his instrument; and as he reflected on his earnest devotion to the art, and the beauty that resulted, he took up his old, red ESP Viper, which had served him well for so many years before switching to more expensive brands; he began to finger some chords, and strum almost inaudibly with his thumb.

On the fourth chord, he was stricken with a chill; the beauty of his playing was--

No, that wasn’t it. He put down his guitar, having suddenly become aware of a feeling, distinct, as of some intruder; infinitely oppressive in its irregularity, yet possessing a whisper of familiarity--his attention was drawn once again, through nothing he could bring himself to label 'free will’, to the depressing phial. He did not like looking at it--he did not want it in his flat, but there was a pact--a trust, an agreement with great rewards promised.

“My...”

With a start, Hizaki yelled at his ceiling; “Who’s there?!”

The disembodied voice did not speak further. Perhaps, he thought, he’d imagined it, but telling himself this did nothing to lift the oppressive atmosphere that had emanated from unoccupied corners of his room--that would not allow him to look away from the phial for any length of time. Was something wrong with it? Yes, he saw it now... it was vibrating subtly in its place. He pushed himself off the bed, discovering on impact of his butt with the floor that his legs had become curiously weak: he was cold, too; and palpitating.

Even from the floor he could not take his eyes off the phial; it had begun to wobble, and soon, it toppled off the mantel. He did not hear it break, but he started to crawl over to be sure--its contents were precious.

He had not even crawled past the foot of the bed when he felt his skirt catch on something; he quickly reached behind himself and lifted the part in question, finding that there was in actuality no such snag as he’d imagined, and determining to continue forward.

It was then that he felt two cold hands laid on his buttocks. He had a bit of a start, but maybe, he thought, he was just imagining that as well; he did not turn to look, and again planted one palm in front of the other on the freezing hardwood floor. His buttocks were squeezed and parted, and something was pressed firmly betwixt: it felt like a face. Still refusing to peer over his shoulder, he was no longer so sure that he was imagining this sensation; but he did not much protest, for these intimate caresses were familiar and comforting; his wrists grew weak and he lowered onto his elbows as the phantom fondling continued.

Hizaki’s modest prick had already seen an influx of blood from the excitement, spilling over the soft, girlish panties he liked to wear at all times. Fingers had wrapped around it--they were not his own fingers: he followed them on reflex, finding himself able to grip his penis without obstruction; but there his hand was freezing, so he removed it, and the invisible, ethereal fingers continued their work on him. Presently, his panties slipped down to his knees, of what would seem, to an observer, to be their own accord. The face pressed again between his buttocks: he could sense its delicate features there, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the identity of his invisible molester; its magnificent tongue broke through his sphincter.

“You...”

The fondling ceased; the tongue was slowly recalled. It was the ghost of Jasmine You, Hizaki was convinced; but how had he come back? Hizaki awaited a reply to his unspoken question; daring, once the presence had removed itself from his buttocks, to turn and sit facing it. He could almost imagine, in that empty-looking space, the lustrous form of the late Jasmine You, looking upon him lovingly as ever, with parted lips ready to impart insight.

For a moment, there was nothing; Hizaki began to despair, to seriously question his sanity for the first time in his life.

Of a sudden, something brushed his neck, and his fears were dispelled with a whisper in his ear: “My darling,” it said, “don’t you believe I’m here?”

At this point Hizaki really did believe, more than ever; and the breath on his ear grew warm; the displacement of the air felt of flesh, and whispers from beyond were no longer mere whispers.

“Yes, I know you’re here,” Hizaki said, taking Jasmine You’s hand in his own: it felt real; and the deceased person before him looked convincingly alive, despite the dreamy fuzz outlining his contours--an irritating reminder that they remained a plane apart.

Hizaki closed in on the solidified apparition, planting a wet kiss on its cold lips, and then they hugged; the ghost of Jasmine You was naked, pale, beautiful--and most importantly, he could touch it. Their embrace loosened shortly, so that they could speak to each other.

“I can’t describe how happy I am to have you here with me,” Hizaki said, “but how did you return from the dead?” 

Jasmine’s expression turned sullen, and he spoke; “I am still dead, regrettably. We can only touch because you have a certain instability of mind that allows for it, and because you have not--”

“Are you saying I’m insane after all?”

“Yes, but that’s neither here nor there. You must listen!”

Hizaki felt a distinct ambivalence over having his ear demanded by something that had just more or less admitted to being a hallucination, but he had never found himself able to turn down Jasmine You--even as a figment of his imagination. Jasmine spoke with a sense of urgency:

“That you can even speak to me now shows there’s still hope--the lunatic pact has not yet been fulfilled. You had all intended to drink me and gain my ‘powers’ and ‘beauty’ on Walpurgisnacht, hadn’t you? Perish the thought! It is metaphysical nonsense--a setup--it will be the death of you!”

”A setup?” asked Hizaki, denying nothing. “What do you mean?”

“He’s going to kill until he’s the last one standing. I was only the first, a test of his own depravity.”

The colour of profound shock-horror crept into Hizaki’s features. Jasmine continued:  
“I hear things through the blood. I heard him plotting by his lonesome; I heard him plotting with Teru, with Yuki and with you!”

Hizaki stuttered, his heart-rate at the upper regions of what was healthy; “--Are you saying Kamijou killed you?”

“By proxy he did. We had been playing, as we were wont to do: I was bound to the bed in a cheap hotel room, and he was fucking my arse when, uncharacteristically, he stopped short of coming; he had been on the phone with someone, though they were speaking in what I took to be English, which I could not understand. When he stopped speaking, he pulled out, and left the room, leaving me bound. It was not long before I heard the thunderous footsteps, the inane, terrifying vociferations of no less than two black men!

“Immediately, they stuffed enormous, sickly cocks into my rectum and throat--cocks textured like pine-cones, discharging perpetually--I believe at some point there were two in my arse at once, and I bled heavily. One of them had filmed it all, and when they were finished, they untied me, and told me that they would release the film to the public should I utter a word. Kamijou never touched me again--he knew that he had cursed me, made my filthy to touch.

“The disease got the better of me in due time. Your pact is a suicide pact--only I am convinced he will be the one pretending to drink, one eye closed, the other surveying his unsuspecting victims at their intake of the cursed blood.”

“That’s horrible!” Hizaki exclaimed. “I cannot bring myself to doubt your words,” he continued, “but how do we put a stop to Kamijou’s malicious ways?”

“The first thing to do,” said Jasmine, “is dispose of all the blood, so that no one can drink it. Take your phial and empty it completely down the drain.”

Hizaki rose to his feet finally, pulling his panties back up. He retrieved the unbroken phial from before the mantel and took it to the sink in his kitchen, twisting off the cap and tilting over the drain; he had some trouble believing this brownish-red sludge could ever have coursed through anyone’s veins as it crawled obstinately towards oblivion--he had to run the tap to chase it down. Using more water, he flushed any obvious trace of blood out of the phial, and tossed it in his garbage bin.

“Very good,” said the ghost of Jasmine You.

“I think we must dispose of Teru’s phial next,” Hizaki said, turning to face him.

“You don’t care much for Yuki, do you?”

“No.”

“We will continue our endeavour tomorrow then. Tonight, we have some catching up to do!”

Jasmine took Hizaki by the arm and guided him back to the bed, where they sat shoulder to shoulder.

“Why are you naked?” Hizaki ventured.

“Could it have something to do with my clothes having been burnt to cinders with my body? I don’t truly understand, but had I known then that I could communicate with the living, I would have objected vehemently to my cremation!”

“But your parents wanted it...”

“My parents wanted me burned when I was alive, too. I should have thought to retrieve my ‘Last Will & Testament’ from Kamijou before the disease he’d wrought on me had taken its toll: there my desire is explicitly stated to undergo taxidermy upon death and be displayed in a museum--I would also have revised to mention his role in my death!”

“Why did you leave your will with him?!”

“I trusted him. I was foolish, equating with love our rather one-sided bedroom relations up ‘til that time in the hotel room. Thereafter, he probably would not have let me into his condominium to retrieve the document even had I thought of it.”

Hizaki wrapped his arms around the ghost affectionately; he could see a formidable appendage poking up from betwixt Jasmine’s thighs, wan and faintly luminous; alluring.

“Magnificent,” he found himself whispering, his sight glued to it: Jasmine took note.

“You can stroke it if you like,” he said, relaxing backwards onto his palms.

Hizaki did not hesitate to run his fingers along it--they tickled as he did so--and the phantom phallus twitched with some semblance of life. He then gripped it fully, gently at the base, and curled his wrist as he pulled up to the glans, soon reversing this motion, and repeating; the movements grew brisker, shorter, ‘til he saw fit to use both hands: Jasmine moaned like any living person might. Soon Hizaki took the liberty of placing his mouth on the penis, slobbering, suckling--Jasmine You did not protest--and anon, Hizaki’s luxuriant blonde hair was sticky with ectoplasm.

* * *

The time was Four in the morning when Teru awoke with a start: it was the ring of his cellphone, which he answered groggily without bothering to check caller ID.

“Yes?” asked he.

“Something terrible has happened,” came the voice of Yuki. “What shall I do?” he said, the resignation in his voice worrying.

“Please, tell me what the matter is,” said Teru. “I can’t do anything to help if you remain so vague.”

“It’s too late anyway. I’ll tell you what:” the caller began, “I got a hold of Jasmine’s blood in a drunken stupor last week...”

“Go on?”

“I had finished my last bottle of vodka, and I wasn’t thinking straight and... I drank it early.”

Teru sighed. “Hadn’t we planned on drinking it later?” he said. “Anyway, I’m sure Kamijou will understand--”

“--No,” Yuki interjected. “That is not the problem. There’s something--”

“Oh?”

“I felt sick after I drank it--progressively more so; and now my head feels like it’s about to blast off through the roof, and... well, I had to check... my penis was in pain--it has grown--but not only that; it has grown spikes--quills! Like some hedgehog!” The man was absolutely terrified, and Teru was afraid he had ingested some poor-quality hallucinogens.

“Calm your self down,” he said. “I will be over shortly.”

“No!” Yuki was screaming now, “I am afraid my dick will burst like a balloon at this rate! I have to do something--I can’t live like this--” he hung up.

Teru determined to come to the aid of his friend as quickly as possible, slipping on a nearby raincoat over his scant underwear--though it was not raining, and it was cold--and starting for the door. Much to his surprise, he could see Hizaki hurrying down the hall towards him as he stepped out of his flat. He greeted Hizaki with a wave, whereupon the troubled-looking visitor broke into a sprint.

“Where are you going?” Hizaki demanded once he had stopped just short of collision.

“Yuki called me,” replied Teru, solemnly. “I think he had some bad drugs. I was on my way over to talk some sense into him--keep him from hurting himself, you know?”

“What all did he say?”

“Ah... something about his head flying, his penis changing and a fear that it would explode. Drugs, am I right?”

The ghost of Jasmine You, who was following Hizaki close as his shadow, presently invisible to Teru, urged Hizaki’s attention: “It is too late for Yuki,” he whispered, “for he has drunk my blood, and the disease has progressed to its point of highest morbidity. He will surely soon die, and I don’t believe it’s safe for anyone to be there when it happens.”

“Do not go to him,” Hizaki urged Teru, whom he then gripped by the arms and pushed back inside.

“What’s all this then?” said Teru, his irritation and befuddlement plain.

The two with a pulse were seated on Teru’s sofa before his frugal entertainment centre; the ghost caressed Hizaki’s hair idly from behind.

“Yuki is deathly ill,” Hizaki began, “and I have reason to believe it is because he drank Jasmine’s blood. He drank it, didn’t he?”

Teru hesitated for a moment: “Yes,” he said. “He called and said he did, as if it had definite connection to his mad hallucinations.”

“Those were no hallucinations. Where is your phial? I must dispose of the contents.”

“Kamijou would not appreciate that.”

“He would not--it would completely foil his insidious plot to kill us off.”

“What? Why would he want to do that?”

“The blood, you know, that he wants us all to drink on Walpurgisnacht? It is poisonous! And it was Kamijou himself who made it so; he deliberately infected Jasmine with that which killed him--that which now resides in the blood samples he has compelled us to keep, and convinced us to one day drink. I do not believe he intends to drink it himself--no, I’m sure that he will live on, and seek to profit from our deaths!” Hizaki was working himself into a frenzy that a conspiracy theorist would be proud of; “Yes,” he continued, “he intends to launch a wildly successful solo career in Pop music--he will stage memorial shows with tickets priced slightly higher than average--he will release a tribute album--no! Four tribute albums with our names on them! And they will each have a version A, B, C,--”

Teru cupped his hand over the man’s lips--he moistened the palm with the spit of his muffled conjectures for only a second longer before ceasing abruptly, tears now visible on his cheeks.  
“You must calm yourself,” said Teru in the gentlest possible tone. “I know Kamijou well, and what you say--... what you say is entirely plausible. But I must know, how could you have come by this information?” He removed his hand from Hizaki’s face.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Hizaki asked in earnest.

The ghost of Jasmine You surveyed the ensuing exchange. Teru was a staunch materialist who laughed at Hizaki’s belief in ghosts, even then: indignant, Hizaki pushed him to the carpet, and they had begun to roll. Clearly, Jasmine thought grudgingly, he must make his presence known to Teru. He closed in, not quite sure how he’d go about this: when he laid hands on Teru, the man was chilled, and his limbs appeared to stiffen instantaneously. Hizaki soon got the better of him in their little fight, forcing him onto his back and surmounting his body, knees pressed against his sides.

“I give!” Teru cried, slow to recover from the paralysis induced by a sudden phantom touch. “Though I still do not believe you,” he was sure to remark.

Hizaki was not pleased; he did, however, like their present position, as was indicated by his steadily engorging penis. Hizaki about-faced, retaining his dominant position, and undid Teru’s raincoat.

“Don’t do that,” Teru protested. “Please, I have--I need to use the toilet. Let me up, will you?”

Hizaki ignored his friend’s plea: “You wear women’s underwear, too, I see,” was his only comment. He slipped these down half-way to the knees, then inserting his head between the thighs, proceeding with his mouth to coax Teru’s member out of its flaccid state. He allowed his rear to close in on Teru’s face--he knew his friend would know what to do; and after a few more penile tongue-lashings it was apparent that he did.  
Hizaki was sucking him wondrously now, and he felt inclined to reciprocate: he craned his neck towards the shapely posterior that hovered above until he could get the soft fabric of the panties between his teeth; he pulled that aside, allowing Hizaki’s blood-heavy prick to fall against his cheek.

Soon they were engaged in a perfect ‘six-nine’, each sucking deep on the other’s penis. Jasmine gazed longingly at Teru’s exposed arse above which Hizaki’s head was impaled: he wondered how Teru might react to being entered by him. Kneeling to position, he determined to find out; and Hizaki, seeing this, helped by parting Teru’s buttocks and lifting them slightly off the floor. By all appearances, Teru’s hole was virginal, or else had not been tried in years: but now he could feel it being tried by something cold, like a giant, slippery popsicle.

Hizaki spat out the penis and yelped: Teru had bitten him in the teeth-chattering brought on by the intense cold--he half-suspected Hizaki had jammed a frozen sausage into him.

“S-stop that!” he demanded; the object pressed on, expanding his anus and causing him to bleed.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Hizaki; “It was Jasmine!”

“This prank is becoming really insensitive!”

“It is no prank--see, I’ll show you.” He removed himself from atop Teru.

Hizaki had moved clear across the room, motioning for his companion to rise: it seemed, however, that his discomfort only intensified in this absence. Teru felt large, cold hands wrestling the undersides of his knees, lifting his buttocks further off the floor--hands that he could not see--all the while the equally invisible frozen meat-log dug for his prostate. Panicking under the hold of this spectral sexual assailant, he screamed; this appeared to bring about an uncertain pause in the assault, and it was then that Teru witnessed the stains of his own anal bleeding, suspended in mid-air. He thusly came to accept that he was being raped by a ghost, which had penetrated him again before he could reason further.

“The ghost of Jasmine You is fucking your arse!” exclaimed Hizaki, as if it was not by then obvious. Teru had even begun to see the deceased’s never-forgotten likeness materialise on top of him--Jasmine’s face was affectionate and tearful in the act of fucking his hole. The thrusting object now felt almost warm inside, and more like a penis as it prodded his entrails in continuity. When Teru’s outstretched arm touched its palm to Jasmine’s cheek, the ghost appeared to climax: a torrential ejaculation of viscous fluids left him full, and dripping upon retraction of the member.

Teru groaned and rolled to his side, hearing Hizaki clap stupidly.  
“You absolutely must believe everything I have said now,” came his voice full of triumph.

“No,” Teru remained obstinate, “It may yet prove to be but a group hallucination!”

“How do you explain the sex then? I’ll bet you even saw his face!”

“I could have imagined it... wishful thinking.” He held his expanded gut as if in pain. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to use the toilet.”

Teru staggered to his lavatory, closing the door behind him, leaving his friend and the ghost alone with each other. Jasmine sprawled on the sofa and began to sob.

“He won’t be able to lie to himself for very much longer,” Hizaki consoled.

“I wish I were completely dead--dispersed!”

“You don’t really mean that.”

A blood-curdling scream issued forth from behind the lavatory door. Jasmine sat up with a start, and Hizaki turned; something has happened to Teru, they knew.

“I will check on him,” said Hizaki, contradicting his sense of urgency by the creeping manner in which he proceeded with the task. Suddenly, the door burst open, the space behind bearing a Teru set deeply affright with tears, his underwear rolled to his ankles: he fell out onto his face; his anus could then be seen, gaping and more bloody than before.

“What... what happened to you?” Hizaki enquired.

Teru mumbled to the floor momentarily before picking himself up to bent knees; “You go and see for yourself,” he said pathetically, pointing to the doorway.

The first thing that struck Hizaki as he entered the lavatory was the smell, which drove him to cupping his hand over his mouth and nostrils; then, advancing fearfully as if expecting some ambush from the toilet bowl, what should he behold, stinking proudly beneath the incandescent bulb, but the largest shit he ever did see? This thing was nearly one-fourth the size of Teru himself, and it laid pitifully on its side at the foot of the toilet--on its clearly discernible side, for had it not the startling likeness of Jasmine You, sculpted in miniature by a master of the art? Hizaki was impressed, perplexed, and he wanted to vomit: he left the scene immediately, shutting the door behind him.

On the sofa Jasmine could be seen stroking the head of Teru, who had knelt on the floor beside; the sight satisfied Hizaki, for he knew that he had no longer to prove anything to his friend.

“Where do you keep your phial?” Hizaki reiterated.

Teru, presently in a bit of a daze, responded only by pointing towards the drawer of his computer desk. It was slid open and rummaged through at length ere the prize was in hand, and this Hizaki was quick to dispose of in the same manner he’d disposed of its counterpart.

“Now we are all safe;” Hizaki said, “the cursed fluids washed down the drain; the murderous Kamijou ignorant of our knowledge.”

“I suppose so,” came Teru, half-vacantly as Jasmine ceased to pet him.

“Now that I know my two dearest people are safe,” the ghost began, “I must hurry to the final confrontation with that traitor; but I cannot do anything without a witness who believes in me--my foremost desire now is to mutilate Kamijou beyond recognition, but I cannot even touch him without one of you by my side. Who will it be?”

Hizaki kissed Teru deeply before coming forward: “I will accompany you,” he said. “Teru will stay here and clean up, yes?”

Teru nodded and then grimaced, remembering the dismal work of art he had left waiting by the toilet. Hizaki and the ghost exited almost hand-in-hand.

* * *

It was the fourth sofa Kamijou had to replace this week alone; his ferocious pet tiger, whom he had named ‘Ziggy’, rolled playfully--adorably--amidst the giant splinters, torn cloth and spilt cotton. Ziggy was just getting too big for the old penthouse, Kamijou thought--he would buy a new flat soon enough; a bigger one, for he was bourgeois now. He stroked his kitty lovingly for a moment, noticing that its impressive, barbed genitalia was terribly distended--was Ziggy in heat again? Kamijou determined to call a prostitute forthwith; he had trained his exotic pet to satisfy its sexual needs with human bodies--the girls, for the most part, did not like it; but they were well-paid, and Kamijou thoroughly enjoyed watching them work with Ziggy.

He had not even begun to dial the number when he heard a knocking at his door. He crept over, letting the knocks go unanswered until he could peer through the peephole: it was Hizaki, his Princess who never came to visit him. He unchained the door and let it fall open.

“BONJOUR MY HAANI,” he squealed at Hizaki’s face: the visitor jumped.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?”

“N-h-only a little...”

“Do come inside! Did I show you my pet? I think I got him some time after your last visit.”

Hizaki jumped again, seeing the ferocious tiger lying atop some rubbish heap--had that been a couch? It glared at him disapprovingly, and it was a couple of minutes before he could speak, his heart still pounding at his rib cage.

“You’re keeping a tiger in the city...”

“Yes, I payed good money for a license to do that.”

“Why? Why would you keep a tiger here? They belong in zoos--on wild-life reserves--anywhere but in a city!”

Kamijou shook his head: “You never did appreciate the finer things money could buy,” he said. “Always entirely satisfied with your little high-end guitars and gaudy dresses that make your butt out to be the size of a whale. I have transcended your petty consumerism and finally become something of a true Bourgeois, adopting the accompanying Libertine lifestyle which allows for--no, which positively demands such exquisite expenditures as on tennis courts, television networks, theme parks; and, yes, even pet tigers--no, especially--”

Jasmine spoke to Hizaki, unbeknownst to their rambling host: “Please, even as I lack corporeal being his speech nauseates me profoundly. This has to stop, and I must be the one to stop it. Do not get involved directly, for you will have the law on your tail: you need only watch me.” Having said this, Jasmine went forth and knelt before Kamijou, apparently still devising his method of attack.

“--Hey, are you listening to me?” Kamijou continued, “These sorts of lectures I normally reserve for serious students of economics at my biannual seminars, but if you and I are going to be making music together for much longer, you have to know this: all statistics are completely made up and prove nothing, and one of those Friedmans was right when he said--”

Hizaki interrupted: “About Walpurgisnacht...”

“Oh? No, you didn’t miss it. That Walpurgisnacht is still one or two fiscal years away. Don’t you worry about--”

“What’s there to worry about?” Hizaki pressed.

“Nothing, of course. Did someone tell you something?”

“No. Where do you keep your phial?”

“I sleep with it under my pillow.”

“Really? Can I see it?”

“Well, no--it’s not there now, I had to move it when--” Kamijou was cut short; his eyes teared up and jaw went slack. He tried to scream but managed only a barely audible whimper: Jasmine, in his impatience, had simply crushed the man’s testicles beyond hope of repair. The tiger noticeably perked up, possibly concerned for his master’s well-being--possibly hungry, and anticipating an opportunity for easy human flesh. Kamijou had dropped to his knees, holding his crotch, and was glaring accusingly at Hizaki, perhaps thinking he had kicked him swift and unseen. A moment later, Jasmine had escalated his poltergeist activity, wrapping frigid hands around Kamijou’s neck with determination to wring it.

Kamijou could not escape the clutches of his spectral assailant; and the tiger, Hizaki observed, was becoming increasingly agitated: its eyes appraised him ever the more disdainfully, and he felt that he should run, but knew that Jasmine required his witness for these events to carry through as they must. In turning briefly to seek some shelter whence he could continue to watch events unfold--even though he had the good sense to keep Kamijou’s death throes in his mind's eye--he yet made one egregious mistake: when presented with a man’s back, any hungry tiger’s instinct is to pounce for the kill; and Hizaki had invited the attack thus.

He had just taken a step towards the next room, his back unfortunately being fully in view of the tiger, when he felt those giant, padded paws on his shoulders; that hot, moist breath on his neck; that hard, leathery protuberance at his back: his greatest fear at the moment had come true in an instant, and he was pushed face to the floor, the hulking animal weighing him down. The tiger had snapped up the collar of his top in its fanged maw, possibly having just missed the usual death-grip to the neck. He could not even scream at this point, believing his life to be as good as over.

A banging at the bolted door was heard, causing Jasmine to loosen his grip on the half-unconscious Kamijou’s neck; and subsequently to take note of Hizaki’s dangerous predicament, about which he could do nothing--for tigers were such unfeeling things as to null his very existence. The banging at the door turned to a slamming against the door. The tiger, rather than killing Hizaki at the earliest opportunity, had begun to grind its ferocious sex organ along his lower back, the shirt collar still in its teeth: it wasn’t long before, seemingly by chance, the organ crept beneath his skirt and slipped into the back of his panties; the grinding there became more insistent, the panties sliding down from the weight of the organ until said organ was perpendicular with Hizaki’s arsehole. As if knowing full well what the tip of its penis had touched on, it hunched its back and forced entry.

Though Hizaki was expecting this--even hoping for it, discreetly, as an alternative to his death--he could not resist a pitiful scream, drawn out and uneven, as the beast’s appendage perforated his behind, letting a bit of blood in so doing; and as the beast thrust the appendage deeper in, unmindful of his pain; and as it withdrew recklessly, scraping his insides with small barbs, letting more blood, only to begin the process over again, and again, with increasing speed and injurious abandon. Jasmine had left his intended victim, crawling over to lend ineffectual consolation to the teary-eyed Hizaki.

The painted wood of the door was beginning to splinter horribly; a gash was soon made large enough for a malicious hand to reach through and undo the bolt. And as Kamijou lay coughing at the floor, hoping to recover his energy for a hasty retreat from all this mess, who should swing the door open, looking straight at him with rage-filled eyes, but Yuki? The drummer looked sickly, but he was physically strong, and curiously bottomless--between his legs hung some drivelling, throbbing thing that outwardly resembled an elongated pinecone.

“I have figured it all out!” exclaimed he. “I’m sure I don’t have much time left on this earth--my penis is in terrible pain, and all of my blood is being drawn into it as it by all appearances prepares to burst. I know you did this to me,” he had marched across the room, and was now standing before Kamijou, “and I will not die without first exacting some form of vengeance!”

Having said his piece, Yuki pushed Kamijou chest-down to the floor; and, one knee pressed into his back, proceeded to remove his aristocratic trousers. Kamijou wanted to scream, to yell, condemn; but his throat was far too sore. Yuki held the man’s legs, straining the spine back until Kamijou’s arsehole could be reached by Yuki’s deformed penis, and Kamijou looked like an unskilled contortionist; he cried profusely but without sound when the leaky pinecone forced entry, its excretions mixing with his anal blood.

Whilst the terminally diseased Yuki sodomised Kamijou, Kamijou’s pet tiger likewise ravaged Hizaki. The ghost of Jasmine You watched helplessly as the tiger, in the heat of its mindless, bloody thrusts, tore off the piece of Hizaki’s shirt collar it had in its mouth; it then desired something new to hold onto, and decided, after a snarl, on its mate’s tender neck. Hizaki’s heart sank when he felt the hot, wet fangs touch, and subsequently tear into, his neck; and his consciousness could have lasted until the very moment his vertebral column was severed. At that moment, Jasmine could exist there no longer, and he materialised back at Teru’s flat to deliver some truly dismal news.

The tiger had no concept of necrophilia, but it carried on fucking Hizaki’s corpse as though the blonde were alive, and simultaneously nibbled a bit of the upper body: eventually rigour mortis would set in, but the tiger did not know this--the tiger would have no clue as to why it could not for the life of it remove its penis from Hizaki’s arsehole.

Yuki’s heart-rate increased, and the drivelling pinecone penis expanded within Kamijou’s sorry rectum; it abraded his insides in a most gory fashion, and he soon found his voice again; but he did not speak words, he only wailed incoherently.

After a time, perhaps from all the excitement, Yuki fainted, still inside of Kamijou. The penis continued to throb and drivel, and Kamijou tried feebly to extract it from himself: it twitched dangerously, and he was beginning to reconsider his tampering when it burst inside of him, sending high-velocity bits of hardened skin up through his digestive tract with a torrent of tainted blood--he was doubly condemned to death. The tiger supped on the three corpses for three weeks before escaping through the splintered door, the lower half of Hizaki’s body, which it could not reach to eat, still stuck to its groin, terribly decayed. It went on to kill three strangers, thereafter vanishing without a trace for three days, whereupon it died of a blood clot.


End file.
